My Love
by Kate Barancik
Summary: Gollum reflects on his relationship with Deagol. *slash*


My Love   
  
  
  
Summery: Gollum reflects on his relationship with Deagol.   
Rating: NC-17   
Warnings: Slash, character death.   
Disclaimer: I don't own LotR, mainly because I'm not J.R.R. Tolkien. That really sucks.   
  
  


What would provoke me to kill my own best friend? You may ask yourself this upon hearing the entire history of the One Ring; which was of such importance and I had not even known. It is never easy to sit in the dank and slowly convince yourself that the object of your hatred, and likewise your love, was in fact a birthday present given to you by a friend. This is a lie. I killed for it. Not just anyone did I kill, I killed the only real friend I have ever had, Deagol. My love.   
I did not run to the caves to hide from the peering face of the sun; I did so to rid myself of knowing I killed a person for a little, seemingly insignificant ring. It was, however, only insignificant until I would take it out of its hiding place under a stack of rocks and gaze at it. It would mesmerize me just as it had the first day I laid eyes upon it. It spoke to me. It took hold of me and made me kill Deagol. I know in what remains of my heart that this is not true. It made me do nothing. I killed him on my very own, out of my own free will. I have convinced myself, however, that the Ring forced me to kill him. It felt better to blame it on an object that could not argue back.   
I did not believe that it would argue, anyway. I still would hear voices nearby. No, not nearby, right in my own head. It was a harsh whispering voice that would oftenly speak in a tongue that I did not understand. In those rare times that I did actually understand what it spoke, it would tell me of promises that it would keep if I took it somewhere. I would ask it where it wanted to go and it would answer back to me: Sauron. This was odd indeed, for never had I heard the name before. I had missed much in my years captive in my cave by my soft flowing river.   
Oftenly I would scream at the voice to be silent. It would stop, but soon a different voice would greet me. My memory of Deagol speaking to me on different occasions in my life. No harsh whisper spawn from blackness as the one before, no, it was rather soothing as it had been in life. I first heard that voice in what seemed like ages ago, and more than likely had been.   
'Who are you?' he had asked of me. I was sitting beside the River; the very river that would prompt us to go to the Gladden Fields ten years later, where I would murder him beside its banks. The voice had come from beside me seemingly out of nowhere. I had glanced behind me to see a short creature of my own kind staring at me. He was no more than four foot tall and resembled a cross between a dwarf and an elf, for his face was truly fair. It was, I'm most afraid, far fairer than mine had been, or ever would be.   
"Smeagol," I answered. He crouched down beside me to see what I had been doing before he had interrupted me. In my hands lay a tiny fish that I had caught for my family to eat that night. Up along the River there were many others doing this same thing. Long years later I would wonder why Deagol had chosen me to speak with. I like to believe that it was the same power that drove me to kill him, only it drew him to love me. That, however, is another lie I have masterfully created inside my twisted mind.   
"My name is Deagol. I have never seen you here before," said Deagol. I have never seen him before either, but that seems irrelevant to me at the moment. I am transfixed in his gaze, lost in his green eyes. Green eyes that one day I would make close forever. He notices my stare and does not seem uncomforted by it, but rather happy at it. For one moment I have forgotten what he had said to me. All I remembered was his name. Deagol. Over and over again would that name roll through my mind, then and now.   
"I hardly ever come to this river. My father usually had, but he died last month," said I in response upon remembering what had been said. The face of Deagol seemed saddened by this news. Why, I do not know; he never to my knowledge had ever met my father. We sat by the banks together and spoke for long hours. When the sun began to set I heard my mother's annoyed cry for me to come home for dinner.   
I had stood up and began to walk off when I heard Deagol call my name. I turned to him and he ran to me with the five fish I had caught during our long talk in the basket I had brought to carry them. I grabbed the holder of the basket, for a single second my index finger touched his ring and middle fingers in a spark of heat. Just the mere short touch had sent a wave of emotion running uncontrollably throughout my entire body. Never before had I felt such a way for anybody.   
Deagol smiled to me and turned to walk along the River whistling. I stared after him for a moment and walked home with the basket in arms. I entered my house and around the kitchen table sat my mother, grandmother, sisters, and my young baby cousin. My oldest sister gave me a horrible annoyed look as she oftenly did. My youngest sister had asked where I had been and who I had been talking to. To my own surprise I said that I had been speaking with a friend by the River.   
Deagol and I had become close for the week following our first meeting. Oftenly we would wonder far together and meet interesting beings such as the Elves and dwarfs. In a months time we were nearly inseparable from one another. Long times did we spend together, but there was one night in particular that was the most important to me.   
  
  


The night was darker than usual outside my window. My mother had gone off with the rest of my family to visit with my sick uncle, I did not go for the sheer reason that he did not like me all too well. Outside the living area window there was a sudden movement in the rainy night that caught me out of my reverie. Seemingly random knocks sounded on the door: a fast knock followed by three short ones. This was a code I had told Deagol to use earlier in the day so I would know it was him. I was always frightened to be left alone in the dark for too long a time and he volunteered to stay over for the night.   
"Come in quick! The night is cold and the rain is falling hard, Deagol," I said quickly. Deagol stepped inside and took off his rain soaked coat that I hung over the fire to get dry and warm. As I did this, he looked around my cluttered home in new found wonder. He leafed through a book that had belonged to my father. It was a literary book that he had taught me to read from when I was younger. Never would he allow me to be taught anything by anyone save himself. The book was the only object he had left behind that still gives me vivid memories of him.   
"You have read this?" asked Deagol. I nodded as he looked once again, this time more astonished, through the pages. On the very first page written in my father's fine script was his name: Leagol. It also held a note to me that he had written the first time I had read the entire way through the book. Most of the note was of a personal matter, but I did not much care if Deagol read it.   
"Would you like a drink?" I asked as he finished reading the note. He looked up from the leather bound book and nodded vigorously.   
"Something warm," he replied. To emphasize, he shivered slightly exaggeratedly. I went into the kitchen and began to boil some water for a drink my mother had showed me how to make (she never 'taught' me anything, seeing as my father wouldn't allow her to). After playing outside in the snow as a youngster she would have a nice warm cup of it waiting for me next to my favorite chair for whenever I decided to go in.   
In the kitchen there was a clear view into the living area where I saw Deagol wrap himself in a blanket that normally hung on the back of the couch, fitting it tightly around his shoulders. He sat on the wood floor right up near the fire. Hurriedly, I brought him a cup of the drink along with my own and sat on the floor next to him. He took it gratefully and sipped in hesitance. After a few sips he drank it deeply.   
"Very good," said Deagol after his long drink. He took another long drink. So quickly did he do this that I believed his would be gone within moments. I stood to go to the kitchen, but was stopped by his hand on my forearm. He shook his head and told me to sit back down, he needed to tell me something really important.   
"What's the matter?" I asked.   
"Nothing bad, I can assure you," he paused for a moment as like searching for words. "I just believe that there is something I should tell you about, my new friend. I care for you deeply, more so than any person I have meant before."   
This did not shock me; I felt the same way, but the words never seemed to form on my lips. He had seen the way I looked at him and did not scrutinize or pester me for this apparent folly. In such a short amount of time I had never felt so close to some one before. We had connected instantly upon our first meeting. He was kind to me for reasons I had not until now known.   
"I became friends with you because of a pull I have felt. You are different, Smeagol, from anyone else I know," continued Deagol. I wished that what he had said was true, I am not different. I have been taught by my father to be like others, I am the same as any. Even if I may think this, it is most obvious that Deagol does not.   
I waited a moment for him to say more, but he did not. He leaned forward to me a gave me a soft, short kiss on my lips. No surprise took me as my mind thought it would. It did not feel odd, rather proper and meant to be. Deagol pressed closer toward me and deepened his second kiss. I felt his tongue against my lips then, begging for entrance. I granted this request and felt his tongue press up against my own with quickness. It took me back for a moment, I did not know what to do; I have never kissed anyone before.   
I followed Deagol's lead and kissed him back with urgency. His hand found its way to the back of my head where he pushed me towards him without warning. The kiss grew more passionate with every passing moment as my heart pounded fitfully against my chest. I could feel my pulse in every part of my body, my blood flowing faster and in greater amount than ever before. Finally, Deagol ended the kiss, pulling away none to willingly. He sat staring at me from close to my face. Neither one of us quite knew what to do next.   
In the back of my mind I wondered if Deagol had ever done anything such as this before. I thought of asking him, but I knew it would ruin the moment. All I wanted to do was stare into his enchanting gaze until the ends of time. He took my hand in his then and placed it on his chest so that I could feel that his heart too beat as fast as, if not faster than, my own. He let go of my hand, but I still kept it over his heart for a few moments. I tried to will my own to beat in perfect sync with his, but for all was in vain.   
I dropped my hand from his chest and allowed it to fall harmlessly to his knee. We sat in silence and listened to the sound of the rain as it began to let up. We were in no rush, for we had all night, and it was only early in the evening. I took a drink of my warm brew and enjoyed the taste, though I could never make it as good as my mother always seemed to. Deagol drank the last of his in a single swallow and placed his cup on a nearby table. Upon placing his cup up there, he stared at me with vibrancy and what appeared to me to be lust. I had never seen such want in his eyes before. It excited me to know I had done such a thing to him.   
This time I was the one who kissed him. I scooted over even closer, the minimal space between us disappearing entirely. My kiss started out with slow passion and built up to a tremendous desire. Deagol carefully pushed me down onto the floor on top of my mother's favorite rug. We kissed again for a longer time. I felt beyond excited as Deagol slowly unbuttoned my shirt. He opened it over my bare chest and dragged his tongue over my stomach and down to the top of my pants. He lingered there for a moment, kissing the skin just above fabric of my pants.   
He brought himself back to me for another kiss on the lips. I could taste my own sweat still clinging to his lips. With shaking fingers I stripped him of his shirt and licked his chest up to down and left to right. Nervously, I stopped at the edge of his trousers. Instead of taking them off as well I kissed the cloth just above his loins. He let a moan escape from deep in his chest, which only excited me more. I brought myself back to his face and gave him a soft kiss on the brow. He laid atop me for a moment as though stupefied as to what to do next, I did not know myself.   
With slow and nimble fingers, Deagol stripped me completely of my clothes. I lay before him in total nudity. He was not disgusted or horrified, but rather pleased. He smiled down to me and gave me another passionate kiss. I felt the cottony feel of his pants rub against me. I reached down and released him from his garments. I threw them in a random direction, careful not to get them near the fire. Nothing at all separates us now but the air itself, cool against our bare skin.   
Deagol presses his entire body onto mine. His lips press mine for another kiss, this one much as the first we shared. Slowly, he kisses down my body; neck, shoulders, chest, stomach. He reaches the place just above his goal and stops. He stays there as in sudden thought and soon begins the rest of the way down, now licking my pale skin. His mouth takes in my erection fully and gladly as I give out a loud yell. I arch my back as he brings his mouth up and down over me. My excitement grows in every second that passes until I can hold back no longer and orgasm in his mouth.   
I fall back to the floor against the warm rug. My arms spread themselves out to lay far from my sides on the cold floor. Deagol finds his way to me, but I have my eyes closed. He kisses me and I can again taste myself in him. He lays on the top of me again, his sweat is mixing with mine and he is breathing hard. With every rise and fall of his chest I realize that I don't wish to move from this spot. I wished then to stay just as that; Deagol pressed warmly and reassuringly against me. Absently, I run my hand threw his black hair on the top of his head. It is wet either from the rain or his sweat, I cannot tell which.   
"Now, it is your turn, my love," I say. He gives me a rather odd look until I roll him under me and begin a sensual kiss. My body shakes worse with every time that I touch him, every time I smell him. He has a hold over me like no other. I fear that I will fail him as a friend, or now more as a lover, if I am to not do this right. Deagol always has words of encouragement, however:   
"Be calm, my precious."   
  
  
  


I did fail him. Not that night, or any other after that, but rather I did the day I destroyed what was most perfect in my life. He was my true home, the one place I felt safe and I destroyed unmercifully. I did not love the Ring because it was powerful, I loved the Ring because it had told me to. It had shined and glittered so brilliantly with false hopes that I killed the one person that mattered most to me. I would wish upon the Ring as though it were a star. I would wish for it to bring him back to me. I would do anything if it would just bring him back for a single moment. I wanted him to forgive me of my most grievous sin. What is more, I needed him to do it.   
Take me to Sauron and you shall have your wish, it spoke to me two nights before it had run away to another master. For a single second I believed that it told the truth, but remembered that it lied. I killed Deagol for a ring. A simple gold ring that had taken such a hold on me that I would kill that which loved me most. It was the shine that caught me. That shine reminded me oftenly of the sun. This is why I fear the sun so; it shimmers upon my ring as it had in Deagol's hands beside the River. In that shine I see his smile and cannot bare it without going mad.   
It had left me. Run off to that dastardly Baggins for eighty years until his dastardly heir came on it. From him, Frodo, I tried to take it. The tentative word there being tried. I succeeded, but fell into the Cracks of Doom upon finding my success. I lay dying on a outstretched piece of wall. My life drains slowly from me as I hear the horrid screams of the Dark Lord's apostles as they plunge into eternal darkness. I will fallow them shortly.   
A ghost of a touch runs up my shoulder. I look over to see Deagol. He is bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth. His neck is an array of bruises. In his eyes I do not see pain as I had expected, but love. Those green orbs sparkle with unshed tears as he mouths words that I hardly recognize: I love you, my precious.   
"I love you, too, my love," I said in my normal voice; it held no hiss now. "My most precious." He closes his eyes and tears begin to carve a path down his mud stained face. For the first time in years I cry, uncontrollably so. I force my eyes to shut against the fires of Mordor and plug my ears from the screeching of the minions of evil. I can sleep in peace now, my love has forgiven me. I drift to black and feel his arms tighten around me, not willing to let go. As I plunge into an uncertain death I do not find myself afraid. No, for a smile graces my lips in pure happiness. I'm home.   
  
  


The End   
  
  


A/N: I know Gollum sounds a bit more educated in this fic than he is, but the way he talks annoys the crap out of me. R&R if you please!   
  
  
  
  



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